Hoof-Prints and Birch Switches
by SolarRose29
Summary: "Don't say it," Sam warned. "Grandma got run over by a reindeer!" Dean blurted.


"Don't say it." Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the way Dean's lips twitched, struggling to keep the words inside. "I'm warning you. Don't."

The gurney rattled when Dean planted his hands on the edge, hanging his head between his arms as he fought for control.

"Dean…" Sam growled.

After a moment of bracing himself as his shoulders quivered with silent laughter, Dean straightened. He cleared his throat. And did it again. Then held up a hand. "I'm good, Sam. I'm good."

Unconvinced, Sam frowned at him before returning his attention to the corpse in front of them.

Gertrude Ives, by all accounts, had been the sweetest old lady that ever walked the earth. Her grandson however, was the devil himself. At least, so the landlord had told them when they'd come to investigate. The case wasn't much of a case, more like a way to say goodbye to the city they'd stayed the night in. Dean had caught the words 'animal attack' exchanged between the coffee shop employees that morning. He'd gotten no other details but he'd somehow managed to drag Sam to the morgue anyway. Given that they had no place better to be on Dec 6th, Sam reluctantly agreed to break in and check out the corpse, if only to get Dean to shut up about how positive he was that this was their kind of thing.

Sam sorted through the box of personal effects that had been on the body at the time of death. A pair of eyeglasses, an analog watch, a simple gold wedding band, and a Christmas bulb necklace with a matching set of Santa earrings. No clues. Sam replaced all the items and picked up the lid, dismissing them as useless.

"Grandma got run over by a reindeer!" Dean blurted.

Sam slammed the lid down on the box and glared at his brother. "Dude…"

With a grin he couldn't suppress, Dean merely pointed to the hoof-prints visible in the woman's forehead. Sam yanked the sheet back over the face.

"It was not a reindeer," he snapped.

"Then how do you explain these?" Dean insisted, flicking the sheet off.

Sam tugged the sheet back up. "There could be a dozen explanations."

"Yeah, like a reindeer." Dean jerked the sheet away.

"Shut up about the reindeer." Sam pulled it on.

"I'm telling you, Sam, it's pretty obvious what we're dealing with."

Not deigning to reply, Sam slid the table back into the freezer and walked out the door without bothering to wait for Dean.

OoOoO

"Dean, for the last time, quit humming that stupid song!" Sam slapped his hand down on the motel table, twisting in his chair to glare at his brother.

Dean shrugged, unapologetic, as he stuffed more fries into his mouth. "I wash jus twying to help."

"How? I can't concentrate if I have to listen to that annoying song over and over." Sam crossed his arms.

"It's got all the clues we need right there in the lyrics," Dean insisted before washing down the fries with a noisy slurp of soda.

"No, it doesn't. And do you have to eat those in my bed?" Sam complained, gesturing to the torn takeout bags and greasy paper containers spread across his blanket.

Dean paused, glancing down at the mess. Then he looked back up at Sam. "Duh. I don't want any crumbs in my bed."

In the name of peace on earth and good will toward men, Sam bit back his justifiably angry retort and turned his eyes back to his laptop and the websites he had brought up. Only to have to stop two seconds later when the humming started again.

"Dean!"

OoOoO

"I thought there was no such thing as the Anti-Claus."

"It's the only thing I've found to explain the hoof-prints," Sam insisted.

Dean clucked his tongue. "That's only because you're not exploring every avenue of possibility."

Sam shook his head. "There's no such thing as Santa."

"Oh, so the Anti-Claus is real but Santa Claus isn't?" Dean challenged, raising an eyebrow. "How does that work?"

Sam shifted in his seat, knee knocking against the dashboard. "I don't know. But you're missing the point."

"Okay, fine. Tell me what you've got." Dean slide his eyes sideways. "Grinch."

Sam rolled his eyes but flipped through the notes he had made. "So I'm thinking Krampus came for Jayden-"

"The little hellion?" Dean interrupted.

"He's five, Dean."

"He kicked me in the-"

Sam interrupted. "I know, Dean. I was there."

"That was totally uncalled for," Dean grumbled.

"You were sticking the EMF reader in his face," Sam pointed out.

"Hey," Dean took his hand off the wheel to stab his pointer finger in the air. "I just had to check. There's nothing wrong with being thorough."

"Anyway, so Krampus showed up to punish the naughty child but the grandma accidentally got in the way," Sam theorized.

"So what? Once he realized he offed the old woman, evil Santa got scared and fled the scene of the crime? Are we talking about a holiday hit and run?" Dean snorted.

"Why not?" Sam shrugged.

"Alright. The lore say anything about how to gank him?" Dean asked.

Sam consulted the papers in his lap. "According to this, we need to bind him with chains and then whip him with birch switches."

"Birch switches?" Dean echoed. "Shouldn't be hard to find."

OoOoO

"Put that down! That's not for you."

Dean grudgingly set the bottle down. "I can't even have a taste?"

"No. It's tradition to offer it to Krampus. And I doubt it's a good idea to sample offerings to pagan gods," Sam argued.

"Fine," Dean huffed, turning away from the bottle of schnapps and picking up his knife again. He set to work whittling the birch branches. Sam sat opposite him, double checking the information, comparing various websites.

"How long do we have to wait?" Dean complained, growing restless in the motel room.

"At least sundown," Sam answered absently.

Dean tilted his head toward the window. "It is sundown."

"Already?" Sam checked his watch. "Huh."

With an aggrieved sigh, Dean threw himself backwards on the bed with dramatic flair.

OoOoO

"Do you hear that?"

Dean jerked, coming out of his light doze. He glanced over at Sam. "Hear what?"

"Bells," Sam said, climbing out of the car.

Dean squinted out the frosty windshield, seeing nothing but the bottle of schnapps on the stump in the middle of the clearing. He reluctantly pulled himself from the warmth of the Impala's interior, and headed after Sam. Sam was standing near the treeline, eyes scanning the woods. Dean joined him and was about to complain about how cold it was when a loud crashing through the forest drew both of their attention. Dean grabbed Sam's elbow and pushed him behind him as he stepped back into the cover of the trees. Across the clearing from them, a dark shape emerged, heading straight for the brandy.

"Dude, he's fugly," Dean whispered, curling his lip in disgust at the half man, half goat creature that had appeared.

Krampus was over six feet tall, entire body covered in dark coarse hair. Horns sprouted from the top of its head, nearly matched in length by the pointed tongue lolling from its mouth. In one hand, it held a metal chain, the end of which was crowned by a pair of bells. In the other hand was a birch branch. On its back swung an empty sack. It stomped toward the offering, cloven hooves flattening frozen tufts of grass as it went. When the thing went to grab the bottle, it set off the booby trap the Winchesters had set. Tangled in the long chains, the creature roared its displeasure.

Taking that as his cue, Dean rushed forward, birch switch in hand. However, he underestimated his opponent and Krampus knocked him back with a hard shove. Sam rushed past him, his own weapon raised.

"Look out!" Dean called.

His warning was too late. Sam fell to the ground beside him, hitting his head on a tree root.

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

Face twisting into an expression of anger, Dean surged to his feet, gripping his weapon tighter. He brandished it at Krampus, who was still struggling to get free. The thing swung at him clumsily but Dean was ready. He dodged the strike before leaping forward and landing a blow of his own. The moment the wood hit its chest, the creature let out a howl before crumbling into a pile of coal. Dean toed at the lumps, just to be sure. Then he raced back to Sam.

"Sammy," he called, cradling Sam's face between his hands.

"It's Sam," came the familiar reply.

Dean exhaled with relief and helped Sam to his feet. As they made their way back to the Impala, Dean snagged the unopened bottle of schnapps.

"No need to waste it," he said to Sam's raised eyebrow. "Besides, the eggnog could use a little kick."

Sam shook his head fondly, taking his seat on the passenger side as a gentle snowfall began.


End file.
